All The King's Men
by letsgetdizzy
Summary: Santana Lopez is a photographer. On her good days, at least. The rest of the time she's a mess.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This was originally written for a big bang challenge that didn't work out, so I'm posting the here. It's mostly written already so updates should be reasonably quick.**

**A massive thanks to Penelope Cross for beta-ing this fic and making it considerably better than it would have been.**

* * *

Santana gets her first camera when she is eight.

It's a pink Disney Princess camera and it lasts exactly four days before Puck convinces her to lend it to him so he can take a picture of a dissolving slug. She gets it back in five pieces and she sneaks into his room and pierces his only football as revenge.

* * *

When she is fourteen she discovers Evanescence and dark clothes and she tries to convince her mother to let her streak her hair with green. Her mother laughs and says over her dead body, and she runs up to her room and slams the door, hard. After three days of tears and screaming matches her mother agrees to buy her a semi-professional camera so she can express herself if she'll agree to drop the hair dyeing thing and throw away all of her Dashboard Confessional CDs.

She agrees, because no one uses CDs anymore anyway, and she spends a glorious three days taking black and white pictures of park benches and birds flying in the sunset. On the fourth day Quinn Fabray comes over with a massive shit eating grin and a perfectly pressed, red and white uniform plastered to her body, and she spends the next three hours convincing Santana to join the cheer leading squad with her.

'We'll rule the school,' she says. 'We can be at the top.' Santana listens carefully because you have to be careful with Quinn. Half the time what she doesn't say is what's going to come back and bite you in the ass if you're not careful.

'I don't know,' she replies, because she needs a second to figure out what Quinn is playing at.

Quinn looks at her, staring unblinkingly until she starts to squirm, and she steps forward and sits on Santana's bed, right next to her.

'I like your clothes,' Quinn says lightly. 'They suit you. The whole grunge thing looks good.'

'I know it does,' she says but the way Quinn is smiling at her knocks the usual punch out of her tone.

'You and Jacob Ben Israel are going to have so much fun together next year.'

'What?'

I mean, you look nice and everything, but you can't expect anyone to take you seriously if you walk around like _that_,' Quinn waves a lazy hand in her general direction, 'especially in high school. The only place you're going to fit in will be with the rest of the arty losers.'

She flashes back to the week before, in the park, when Puck and Finn and some other guys threw Jacob into a puddle and rubbed his face in the mud.

'It probably won't be so bad,' Quinn continues, and just for a second she wishes that she could throw her out of the window. 'They don't usually hit girls. And you're pretty tough. You would probably be okay.'

'Quinn,' she warns. Quinn holds her arms up in and leans back a little.

'I'm just saying. You should be prepared, that's all.' She stands up neatly, and makes for the door. 'Tryouts end tomorrow. I hope you decide to go,' she says, and disappears around the corner.

It's not so much that she _wants_ to be a Cheerio. Quinn's sister Fran was one, and she used to spend hours describing the pain and humiliation the coach threw at them. There isn't much about being a Cheerio that actually appeals to her.

Except Quinn is already walking taller, holding her head higher than she did the last time Santana saw her. Because she knows that when she walks into the high school in September every person who sees her will move out of her way, and if Santana doesn't get herself in the same position she'll be one of the people who will get shoved to the side.

She is the first person to get to the tryouts the next day, and after the Coach sees her do a perfect back flip off the bleachers and perform the crazy hard routine she's sure was made up on the spot she is presented with a uniform identical to Quinn's and is ordered to lose five pounds before the start of the fall semester.

She goes home and tries it on, and watches the pleats twist and bounce as she practices walking.

She feels exposed, vulnerable in the uniform, because she's been wearing nothing but (ripped) jeans and t-shirts since summer started and she feels almost naked. She scrapes her hair back into a ponytail, puts her hands on her hips and scowls at her reflection in the mirror.

That's better.

That night before she goes to sleep she packs her camera away as carefully as she can before stashing it right at the back of her closet, behind all her old trophies and weird class projects. When she rearranges all her stuff so that she can't even see the case anymore she breathes a sigh of relief and picks her phone up so she can text Quinn about Cheerios practice.

She starts to use the treadmill in the spare room at least once a day and every time she stumbles off, muscles screaming, she imagines walking the halls of McKinley with every eye trained on her and a hot guy on her arm. Not any of the ones she grew up with, a real guy, like the ones Quinn's sister Fran used to bring home. She will flirt and laugh and everyone will stare when she walks into a room. She's going to rule the school.

* * *

Of course ruling the world is no fun if you do it alone, so as soon as Brittany is back from her trip to the Grand Canyon she works on getting her onto the squad. It takes four boxes of Dots and a promise to help her bathe Lord Tubbington before Brittany agrees to try out. After that it's easy to arrange for the Coach to 'accidentally' come across Brittany flipping and twisting all over the place in the local park. Brittany plays the surprised and pleased part perfectly and Santana grins from her hiding place when she sees her take a small card from the Coach.

Quinn is less than pleased when she finds out that Brittany is on the squad too. Santana knows it's because she thinks that Brittany's special brand of crazy will only drag them down. Brittany been able to take care of herself for as long as Santana has known her and everyone likes her. Besides, there's no way she's going to spend the next four years with a girl who thinks it's normal to have Jesus watch you as you sleep.

'I thought you weren't going to join the Cheerios,' Brittany says suddenly. Santana jumps a little. Brittany never speaks when Ariel is singing.

'I changed my mind,' she says, when it's clear Brittany is going to wait for an answer. It's weird to have her full attention when a Disney film is on. Santana shifts uncomfortably. Brittany's hand drifts down to brush her hair off her face.

'It's just, you don't really like all that dancing around stuff.' Brittany pauses the TV just as Ariel's dad makes the Eric statue explode. The garish colours in the darkened room are creepy, and she moves her head from Brittany's lap onto the pillow next to her.

'But you like it, right?' Brittany nods and Santana lets out a breath. 'It's not really about that. It's about power. We can be at the top.' She takes in a deep breath to explain that she doesn't want them to get trampled next year but the words slide back down her throat when Brittany's hands thread though her hair and massage her scalp. It sends chills all the way down her arms and she turns her head away to hide her face.

'Okay,' Brittany murmurs eventually, and presses play. The TV goes back to a soothing blue and Santana lets herself sink back into the pillows.

* * *

Quinn Fabray lied to her.

She fucking _lied._

Okay, maybe she didn't lie, but Santana can't figure out why Quinn didn't think to mention that she had been appointed Junior Captain or some shit over the summer. It means that Quinn gets to boss her around and spend half of each practice cramming as much of herself as she can up the Coach's ass while Santana runs so many suicides she swears she puked her liver up at least once.

It means that Quinn is automatically put near the top of the pyramid even though Santana is definitely lighter than her. She has to spend the end of most practices trying not to get trapped under her giant thighs.

Well, not giant.

But still.

She has to make a choice, about whether she wants to spend the next few years underneath the thumb of the current head cheerleader or get herself under Quinn's protection and accept her role as minion.

For now.

So she learns how to flank, and laugh on cue, and she vows never to listen to any of Quinn's stupid ideas ever again. She takes Brittany along too, to make it bearable.

But it isn't so bad, because she's only one place off being at the top.

* * *

She makes her move when Quinn is still recovering from having the baby, and she spends two weeks begging for breast implants.

'_Please_, Mama,' she says, after her mother has said no for the thousandth time.

'Why is this so important to you, Santana?'

'I just need it,' she says helplessly. She doesn't really know what to say, apart from that. She can't tell her mother that she needs them because she's felt her grasp on safety and comfort and _power_ slipping the whole year. Some of it is because she's still in the glee club, but most of it is Brittany's fault. Well, not really her fault, but Santana has woken up curled around her one too many times and now she can't stop thinking about her.

She knows those kind of feelings aren't an option. Her school is a place where Kurt still gets thrown in the dumpster and Rachel has three separate outfits within easy reach at all times. She can't leave herself open to that kind of crap, and that means she has to be the Santana that doesn't daydream about holding Brittany's hand in the hallway in school.

'I just really want them,' she says, and she just barely manages to stop her voice from cracking on the last word. Her mom stops chopping a carrot and walks around the kitchen island, towards her.

'What's wrong?' she asks, and Santana steps forward and wraps her arms around her mom. She buries her face in her shoulder.

I just think... I want to look better, that's all.'

'You look beautiful now,' her mom says, hugging her back.

'I know,' she says, and her mom laughs a little. 'It would make me so happy, though.' Her mom pulls back a little so she can look at her, and Santana forces herself to look her in the eye.

'Are you sure that's all?' She nods vigorously and her mom sighs. 'Okay. But this is the last big thing you're going to get from me, you hear?'

A month later she is the proud owner of a chest that hurts so much she wants to claw the damn things out herself.

'Go for a walk,' her mother tells her a week later, when the swelling has gone down and she is starting to get seriously bored. 'I only agreed to this ridiculousness so you would stop whining at me.'

She can't just walk around with nothing to do, though. She runs upstairs and grabs her phone so she can pretend to be texting someone. She digs around and finds her camera too, before she can think about what she's doing, and she heads for the door as her mother comes towards her, wielding a broom.

'Don't come back until you can smile again,' her mother says, shaking the broom theatrically, and Santana bites down on a grin. Her Mama is crazy.

* * *

'Let me see,' Quinn says. Santana raises an eyebrow. 'I don't mean... shut up.' Quinn's face goes bright red.

'There isn't really anything to see, Q. It's done.'

'I didn't really think they were necessary,' Quinn says, and Santana tries to hold back a scowl. She knows for a fact that Quinn has spent the last few weeks trying to whip her body back into shape after the baby nonsense of last year, and she's been buying Vitamin E by the bucket load to get rid of the stretch marks.

She didn't ask her over to fight, though, so she keeps her mouth shut.

'So why did you tell me, anyway?' Quinn is looking at her suspiciously, which is fair enough. They didn't exactly keep in touch last year. She shrugs.

'I don't know. I just did. I was bored.' Because Brittany isn't around is the real answer but she's not going to say that. It doesn't really matter because Quinn looks like she knows what she's thinking anyway.

'Do you want to watch TV?' She offers. Quinn nods faintly and she finds an episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta playing.

Quinn is a lot easier to get along with when they're laughing at idiots together instead of talking.

* * *

When Brittany comes back from visiting her grandparents in Indianapolis the first thing she does after she unpacks is run over to Santana's house to bring her a gift.

'Because you're all prickly but really nice inside,' Brittany explains when she hands Santana the miniature cactus. Santana eyes it warily.

'Britt, I don't think cacti are that nice inside.'

'They make tequila out of them, don't they?' Brittany flops down on the bed and Santana carefully puts the plant on the windowsill before lying down next to her.

'How was your vacation?'

'My sister got carsick and threw up on my mom's back. It was gross. How was yours?' Brittany winds their fingers together and she takes a breath.

'I didn't really do anything.' She can feel the pad of Brittany's thumb tracing her palm and it's making her face heat up. She pulls her hand away.

'Hey, Britt,' she says quickly. Brittany's face starting to do that thing that means she's about to say something that Santana won't want to hear. 'Look at this.' Santana moves off the bed and rummages around under it until she finds the shoebox where she has been stashing her pictures. She grabs a random handful and dumps them on the bed. She watches Brittany as she looks through them. She took pictures of everything while Brittany was away: people, trees, her driveway. She even took a picture of a porta potty at a construction site.

'These are really cool,' Brittany says. She looks up to see Santana trying to hide a pleased smile. 'Did you take them yourself?' Santana ducks her head to try to hide her face but Brittany moves quicker than she can and holds onto her wrists, gently.

'Whatever. I mean, I took so many there had to be a couple of good ones in there.'

'They are more than a couple of good ones in here, San.' Brittany still hasn't let go of her wrists and she lets her pull her back onto the bed. 'You really like it, huh?' Brittany is looking straight at her and it is so hard to lie to her when they are sitting like this. She doesn't even want to, really, because since when did she have to be cool around Brittany? She keeps this in mind as she forces down a joke about the fact that she has a shoebox full of strangers' pictures under her bed.

'Yeah,' she says, and Brittany looks like she wants to kiss her, only they don't kiss like this, after holding hands and talking about feelings. They kiss when they're drunk, or when they're nearly asleep. Brittany must see Santana start to shrink away because she lets go of her wrists and leans back a little.

'Show me the camera. You've never let me see it before.' Santana grasps onto the lifeline gratefully and fetches her camera from its case on her desk.

Her mom got it second hand from eBay but it was still expensive enough that she has a deathly fear of breaking it and she slides it carefully into Brittany's hands. Brittany turns it around a little before looking at Santana plaintively.

'Turn it on for me?' Santana chuckles and presses the 'on' button. She lets her hands slide over Brittany's to correct her grip and holds it steady for her.

'What do you want to take a picture of?' Brittany looks around for a second before settling on the cactus on the windowsill.

'That.' It's awkward, trying to get a decent shot while holding on to Brittany's hands, but she manoeuvres them as well as she can, and checks the frame and the light (she may or may not have got a how to photography book off Amazon because if she's going to embrace her inner nerd she's not going to be shit at it) and takes the picture.

It comes out well, she thinks. The sun is filtering in through the window and the plant is making pretty shadows on the floor.

'Let me see,' Brittany says, craning her neck, and Santana tilts the camera towards her.

'That's really cool, Santana.' She lifts the camera out of Brittany's hands and cradles it carefully. She likes how it feels in her hands, the weight of it, and she startles when she sees Brittany gazing at her. They're not supposed to gaze at each other.

'You look really cute holding it like that,' Brittany says.

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she fiddles with some buttons.

'Can you take a picture?'

'Of what?'

'Anything. I just want to see.' She's not sure what it is exactly that Brittany wants to see, but the room has gone really quiet and she wants a distraction. She raises the camera up and shoots the picture before she's even gotten a good look at what she's taking. Brittany holds her hands out for the camera and she hands it over.

'I look nice,' Brittany says after a while. She's been staring at the tiny screen for a while and Santana was starting to get worried. 'How did you make me look like that?'

Brittany looks a little surprised in the picture because Santana caught her off guard, but she still finds herself having to turn the camera off to stop staring.

'I didn't have to do anything,' Santana says, and she watches the smile spread across Brittany's face.

* * *

She tells Brittany that she loves her in the hallway at school, and when she turns her down she is almost happy that they're in public because it stops her from crying the way she way she wants to. As soon as she gets home she turns off all the lights in the house and crawls into bed. Her mother finds her there, hours later, and all she does is sweep Santana's hair off her face and gather her into a hug.

'Was it Brittany?' Santana nods.

Who else would it be?

'I love her.'

'I know,' her mom murmurs. Of course she does. They were really fucking obvious and her mother isn't stupid.

There isn't really anything else to say, after that, and she lets her mom fuss over her and put her to bed. It's nice, having someone to take care of her.

Three days later the bouts of crying have mostly stopped and she's ready to become a (somewhat) functional member of society again.

She tries to take pictures to try to forget the whole Brittany mess. She wants to do what all the tortured artists do on TV and lose herself in her art (which sounds so fucking pretentious) but when she goes out with her camera all she wants to do is use it to beat Artie's stupid face in and she stops taking it out because she is afraid for its safety.

When her mom walks in on her having her third Jersey Shore marathon in a row she picks up the phone and spends the next half hour chattering on the phone to someone. She only leaves the room when Santana pointedly turns the volume up as loud as she can and Snooki's nasal whine fills the room.

She jumps when a pile of papers lands in her lap.

'I called around and got the names of some good photography workshops at the community college.'

'Mama...' She didn't spend the last two years hiding her stupid photography hobby to have someone catch her in a class with a bunch of bored housewives.

'No, Santana. I can't stand seeing you look this depressed. It's making me depressed. You don't want me to start painting again, do you?' Santana shakes her head quickly. The house can't handle any more of her mother's 'art' hanging on the wall.

'Good. They want a portfolio before they can accept you, so go put something together.'

She groans. She's just gotten comfortable in her snuggie.

'Santana, you're sad. Your singing club isn't helping and you're not in the Cheerios anymore, thank God. I think that having a hobby, something you can do by yourself is a good idea. Now, go on.' She's pulled to her feet and the next thing she knows she's stumbling up the stairs.

'So, who here loves photography? Who loves taking pictures and capturing moments and telling a story?' A few hands creep up into the air.

The teacher, Greg, is long and spindly and intense. He reminds her a little of the Other Mother from Coraline.

'Good.' He smiles. 'We're going to have some fun.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to Penelope Cross for the beta work!**

* * *

_Take as many pictures as you can. Even Ansel Adams probably threw away ten pictures for every one that he kept._

_Take lots of pictures but don't click blindly. You have to practise thinking in split seconds or you'll miss the shot._

_Page 129_

On Saturdays the whole class goes outside for the field session. Sometimes they spend hours taking pictures of stationary objects, like trees or the hills around Lima. Once they spent an hour standing on the road of a busy highway trying to take pictures of the cars as they sped by.

On Wednesdays people bring in the best of the pictures they have taken in the past week and the whole class sits in a circle to discuss them. Greg usually chimes in the discussions with information about photography theory, which most people try to scribble down. Santana hates this part because she usually either likes a picture or she doesn't, and she knows people are looking for more than a two word response. Also, she is the youngest person in the class by at least five years and she's afraid that any longer answer she gives will make her sound like a stupid kid.

She's never as quiet as she is during the hour-long sessions while she listens to everyone around her discussing focus and lens types and movement.

* * *

'I noticed you haven't brought anything in.'

She has just slung her bag over her shoulder and she jumps when Greg speaks behind her.

'You know, seeing you not participating in the Wednesday class makes me want to give you half your money back.' She realizes that he is determined to have a conversation with her and she stops walking, reluctantly.

'I don't have a picture I want to talk about.' Her voice sounds foreign and wrong in this room, and she almost wants to snatch it back.

'It's not about talking. It's about letting other people see your work, and getting some constructive criticism.'

Only no one ever sees most of the pictures she takes. She hasn't spoken to Brittany in weeks and she won't let her mother near them, even though she keeps asking.

'You don't have to bring in one of your favourites. Just pick something that you think is half decent. I'll even let you go first.' He flashes a crooked smile and walks out of the room. It takes her a couple of minutes to remember to leave.

She drives straight home and runs straight upstairs to her room. Her mom isn't in so she lets her door stay open as she pulls the nearest box of pictures and negatives out from under her bed.

The number of pictures that she has more or less doubled since she started taking the course; she knows she has hundreds. Luckily she is meticulous when it organising her photographs. Each picture is labelled with the date and location and she keeps them in chronological order. It doesn't take her long to find the pictures she wants to use and she lays them out carefully, taking care not to leave fingerprints on them.

She forgets all about it when Saturday rolls around and her mother knocks on her door to wake her up, her eyes swollen and red rimmed.

'You should get dressed,' she says. Santana nods.

As she walks down the stairs she sees her mom standing at the kitchen counter, wiping her face. Santana gives her a thin, stretched smile.

'No more crying today,' she says. Santana's eyes are dry but she nods anyway.

Breakfast is hard. Not as hard as last year, or the year before that, but Santana has to have a sip of water after every bite to force her food down.

The first thing they do is drive to the cemetery and lay a box of Hershey's Kisses on the grass. She still hasn't cried, and she lets her mom lean on her and tremble as she stares at her father's gravestone.

They try to make this a happy day but it's hard when they start it by visiting the one place in the world that makes her sadder than she has ever been in her life. Still, she can't imagine starting today without coming here.

After her mother gets a hold of herself they take turns saying hello. She listens quietly as her mother tells her dad what they've been up to and she looks away when she bends down to press a soft kiss to the gravestone.

She doesn't have anything to say when it's her turn and her mom doesn't push her. They leave just as Santana's eyes start to burn.

They go to an ice cream parlour and split a sundae with extra sprinkles. Her mom lets her have the cherry.

'You had better take it, it makes the ice cream healthier,' her mother says. She tries not to roll her eyes at her attempt to lighten things up. She likes that she tries, though.

When they get home they cuddle up together on the couch and she zones out when they find an old episode of Jersey Shore. When she gets tired of listening to her mom field calls from their family and friends she goes upstairs and flops down on her bed.

She's so close to sleep that her body begins to float away from her. She's just about to fall asleep completely when she feels someone come into her room. When she rolls over she sees Brittany standing just a couple of feet away, biting her lip and obviously trying not to fidget.

They haven't talked since she refused to dance in the Lebanese shirt Brittany made her. They haven't so much as made eye contact but she should have known that Brittany would still show up today.

Brittany must see something in her face because she steps closer and crawls onto the bed. She lies down next to her and her flowery perfume washes over Santana.

She can feel the tears welling up and she doesn't fight them when they start to drip down her face. She doesn't fight when Brittany pulls her so close she can't draw breath to sob the way she wants to. She lets Brittany stroke her hair and her back and she only moves so she can tuck her face into Brittany's neck.

'Oh, Santana,' Brittany says. She squeezes her tighter.

This is stupid, she thinks. It's been six years. She shouldn't be crying like it happened yesterday. She didn't even cry this much last year.

Of course, last year she still had Brittany.

A fresh wave of tears comes on at that thought and she takes deep breaths to try to get control back. She realizes that some of this crying is because of Brittany and she feels horrible that she is crying over her relationship problems on the anniversary of her dad's death.

When her sobbing starts to take on a slightly desperate tone Brittany sits them both up and makes her look her in the eye.

'Santana,' Brittany says. She wipes Santana's tears away with the pad of her thumb. 'Santana,' she says again, and Santana lets out a shuddering sob. Brittany's eyes are large and over bright, and she can tell she's trying not to cry. Just like at the funeral, Santana remembers. Brittany spent the whole day as close to Santana as she could and it was only at the end of the day that Santana found her crying her eyes out in the bathroom.

She stops crying, then, and leans into Brittany carefully. She feels arms circle loosely around her back.

'Don't leave me again,' she says. Her voice hitches and hangs on every word and she hates it, but she hates being alone more. She feels Brittany nod against the top of her head.

'I won't,' Brittany promises.

Only Brittany already did. She tries to pull out of Brittany's arms when her chest twinges at the memory of Brittany talking about how much she loved Artie but the arms around her tighten as soon as she shifts.

'No, please don't,' Brittany pleads, as Santana keeps struggling. Now that she's remembered it's all that she can think about and being this close to Brittany is more than she can stand. She freezes when Brittany speaks (when has she ever been able to deny her anything?) but her muscles lock and she lies stiffly as Brittany shuffles even closer and tangles one of her hands into her hair. She takes deep breaths and tries to balance her desire to run away as fast as she can with her almost overwhelming need to melt into Brittany so she can't leave her anymore. In the end she settles for burying her face in Brittany's neck and breathing her in until her heart stops hammering quite so hard.

Brittany doesn't leave until her mom comes up and says that Brittany's parents want her to come home. Brittany slides off the bed obediently and slips her shoes on. When's she's ready to go she twists down to give Santana a hug goodbye.

'Keep your window open tonight,' Brittany whispers in her ear as she hugs her. Santana nods, still dazed from the soft smell of Brittany that's settled all around her. She turns her head and watches through blurry vision as Brittany disappears around the corner.

* * *

_Try to develop a technique of your own. Experiment with different shutter speeds and aperture and composition. There are a hundred ways to capture the same scene and if you want to do it in a way that makes your picture special you need to find a way to make it yours._

_Page 94_

Her picture is projected onto the wall behind her and she clears her throat nervously and tries not to look at it. Every time she does she sees something else that she doesn't like about it.

'I took this when we went to the woods.' Her voice sounds too high and she clears her throat. 'I found a bee and I followed it a little because I thought it looked really cool.' She stops talking because now she's convinced she sounds like an idiot. No one speaks for a little while and she eventually gives in and swivels around to look at her picture.

The black and yellow of the bee clashes brilliantly with the vibrant purple of the flower it is taking off from, and the hazy background of the rest of the picture only makes the contrast more striking.

'Did you slow down the shutter speed?' One of the students asks. She nods shyly. 'It was a good call.'

A couple of people nod and she lets herself exhale. Someone starts to talk about the importance of capturing the essence of creation in nature photography and she stops listening. When they are done with the discussion she slinks back to her seat and tries to avoid eye contact. Greg catches her, though, and he gives her a little smile.

* * *

She hasn't really talked to Puck since sophomore year. She hasn't even though about him, really. So when she walks into her living room to find him lounging on her favourite armchair and chatting easily with her mother, she almost drops her book bag on her foot.

'What are you doing here?' she snaps. Her mom's eyes bug out at her rudeness, but she brushes it off. Puck's cleaned up a little, she notices with irritation. The dead possum on his head looks a little tidier than usual and he's wearing a shirt with no rips on it. He stands up.

'I'll be sure to come by and take care of your lawn, Mrs. Lopez.' He looks so earnest that Santana can't help but snort.

'So, what do you want?'

'Santana, be nice. Noah has come out of his way to see you,' her mother scolds. Santana rolls her eyes.

'Yes, Mama.' When her mom finally leaves the room she strides over to Puck and punches him on the shoulder.

'Ow, Lopez, what was that for?'

'Don't call me Lopez. And you didn't tell me why you're sliming my cushions with your greasy Mohawk.' He shoots her a wounded puppy look.

'Calm down, Santana. I have a two for one all you can eat coupon to Breadstix and I want to take you?'

'Why?' He shrugs in response.

'Are you coming or not?'

* * *

'I'm not going to have sex with you,' she announces after they've ordered their food. An elderly couple in the booth across from them glare.

'I didn't think you were,' he returns.

That kind of kills the conversation for a while. She amuses herself by storing some breadsticks away in a bag she made out of napkins.

The pasta is drier than usual but the breadsticks are excellent, and she swipes some of Puck's onion rings to keep herself full. He smacks at her hand playfully and she scowls at him in return. It makes her feel like a little kid again. She doesn't try to stop the grin that's spreading across her face.

When they are done with dinner Puck drives them to a deserted parking lot and passes her a beer he had stashed in the trunk. They are about halfway through their beers when he finally blurts out the thing that's obviously been bothering him all night.

'I'm sorry, Santana.' He's not so drunk that he can't drive but he's already starting to drop his T's.

'For what?'

'Last year. With Quinn. I cheated on you.'

'No, you didn't.' She chases the beer to the bottom of the can and cracks another one open. It's not like she's driving. 'We weren't anything.'

'Yes we were. You were my friend, and I should have told you myself. It was a shitty thing to do. So I'm sorry.'

'It's okay,' she says, because it is. It had hurt, at the time, finding out that Puck had cheated on her. It had felt like he didn't care enough to explain that he was the one who had knocked Quinn up. But that was a year ago and the whole thing feels like a plot twist on one of the soap operas she likes to watch with her mom.

'I just liked her so much,' he says.

She punches him in the shoulder, gently this time, and lets him finish the beer she opened.

'I'm going to drive you home now, okay?' he says, after she's bought him a coffee and some doughnuts to make sure that he's sober enough to drive.

When they get to her house he comes out to walk her to the door. She tries to shoo him back to his car.

'I'm not an infant, Puckerman. I can walk myself to the door.'

'I'm not going for you,' he retorts. 'I just want to see your mom in her sexy lingerie.' Her hand snaps out and smacks his arm almost automatically.

She unlocks the door and turns around to say goodnight.

'Just tell me if she wears silk or-' she slams the door shut in his face.

So now she has Puck, kind of. She hadn't realized how lonely she had been until now. She finally has someone to text without the awkwardness she feels around Brittany.

Adding him in brings her friend tally to a grand total of two and the thought of that makes her want to jump off something really high if she thinks about it for too long.

'So, San, what do you want to do now?'

'Don't call me that,' she says automatically. She's just beaten him at Call of Duty for the fourth time in a row and apparently he's getting tired of losing.

'I just thought you might be getting tired of cheating.'

'Fuck you,' she says, and loads a new game.

Later, they are floating on the weed that he pulled out of his pocket after she beat him for the fifth time. She tries to stay away from drugs, but he looked like he was about to cry after the last defeat and she kind of feels sorry for him.

'I saw you wearing the Lebanese shirt Brittany made you,' he says, when she is lost in the wonder of the ceiling pattern.

'What?' His words register and suddenly she doesn't feel as high anymore. 'Puck-' she has no idea what she's going to say.

'And you and Brittany haven't been joined at the vagina like usual.' She winces at his word choice and focuses her eyes upwards again. 'You used to turn up to all those jock parties together, and you'd spend half your night watching her, or looking for her. Even when you were with someone as fine as me.'

She opens her mouth to say something, to stop him talking, but there is something almost hypnotising about having her deepest secrets spoken about so casually, and she listens in horrified fascination.

'You should do what I did and sing to her. Show her...' he drifts off and she has to nudge him to get him talking again. 'Sorry. Show her that she's your fat bottomed girl. That she's special.'

'Puck, that song was one of the most offensive things I heard all year.'

'Well you asked for my help and that's what you get.'

'I didn't ask for your help,' she points out, but his snores are already drifting through the room.

So she takes Puck's advice and finds a Fleetwood Mac song that fits what she wants to say to Brittany. The warmth in her chest when she sees Brittany crying and looking at her like she's the best thing she's ever seen turns to burning panic when Brittany wants to out them on YouTube.

She sends a short text message (I can't) when she's about halfway between her house and Brittany's and already about an hour late for Fondue for Two. She has her camera with her and all the pictures she takes that day are basically useless because she was half blind with tears when she took them, but one comes out beautifully and she makes sure to set it aside for Wednesday's class.

It's not so much losing yourself in art as using it to hide, but watching Brittany all alone in her room interviewing Lord Tubbington about his hairballs instead of talking to her like she was supposed to be doing makes Santana feel like such a bad person that she very briefly considers smashing her camera to punish herself.

So for a little while her friend count goes down to one and it's a good thing Puck seems to be going through some kind of problem with Zizes because she has someone to mope around and steal stop signs with.

'You're gonna be okay, Lopez,' he says, after they've come back from a fucking disastrous attempt at cow tipping.

'Don't call me that. And my shoulder's fine now, by the way. You should concentrate on fixing your foot.' He adjusts the ice pack on his foot and winces.

'No, I don't mean that. I mean the Brittany thing. You kind of fucked up-'

'Thanks.'

'But she'll forgive you, and you'll both be fine.'

How do you know comes out of her mouth before she can stop it and she scowls to try to stop him from answering.

'Because it's what you both want, isn't it?' He doesn't wait for an answer before stretching out carefully, trying not to jostle his foot too much.

* * *

_Photography has a rhythm, like dance. The perfect moments beat in and out of existence and if you're not in step you'll miss them every time._

_Page 1_

One week Greg tells them that the course will be over soon and he wants to have a look at what everyone has been doing. He tells them to bring in as many pictures as he can reasonably look at in about twenty minutes and that the next Wednesday class will be one on one sessions while they look through the portfolio together.

Santana picks out twenty five pictures as carefully as she can. She's been bringing pictures in fairly regularly so she's not too worried about having him look through them, but on the other hand it'll just be her and the teacher.

She shows up a few minutes before it's her turn- they are going in alphabetical order and the times were all fixed the week before. She walks into his office as the person before her walks out. Whoever it is – she didn't bother to learn anyone's names- gives her a little smile and she forces herself to wave back.

She walks into his office, sits down across from him and slides the folder across the desk. She keeps herself busy looking at the ugly sculptures he has dotted around his office as he flicks through and occasionally whistles through his teeth.

'They're good,' he announces suddenly.

'Yeah?' She was aiming for bored but she's sure she came off more hopeful than anything.

'You're good at people,' he says, turning to a picture that shows a little boy blowing bubbles at the park. It was the one she took after she blew Brittany off for Fondue for Two and her chest tightens a little.

'You're good at people,' he continues, 'but a lot of your wide shots lack focus. They seem a little random.' He looks at her and she squirms a little. It's not that he makes her uncomfortable, it's just that so much about him is so _intense_ that it makes her feel like he's training a spotlight on her.

'I suggest that you find one thing in the frame to concentrate on and make that the subject. It doesn't have to be the most important thing, just something to kind of anchor the whole thing together. So try that and see how it goes.'

'Okay.' She can't think of anything else to say. She doesn't have any great insight into what she's doing with her camera like some of the others do. Greg lets the silence stretch out for another few seconds before going on.

'I see you like to use a lot of light.' She does. She likes her pictures clear and sharp, stark, and she tends to avoid the smoky, shadowy, romantic look that some people seem to like. 'If you can get yourself up early enough to catch the sunrise you'll probably get some really good pictures.'

She frowns. 'I don't really do sunrise.' Not voluntarily, anyway. You can't be a member of the Cheerios without the occasional five AM wake up call. He shrugs.

'If you want to do this well I'm sure you'll find a way.'

* * *

She gets into the habit of going to sleep early on Saturday nights so she can be up before the sun rises on Sunday mornings. The first time she tried it she made it up to the front door before she gave up. Her mom nearly had a heart attack when she found her curled up in the chair in the hall.

After that she sets two alarms and by the third week she's in the car before the second alarm even goes off.

She drives to a local park and gets herself comfortable in the woods right behind it to wait for the sunrise. She's fully aware of how stupid it is to be in the park alone when it is this deserted, but the rational part of her brain doesn't really have much authority this early in the morning and it doesn't do more than give the occasional grumble whenever she spots someone else.

The light from the sunrise gives a beautiful, startling contrast between where it touches and where it hasn't landed yet. She laps it up greedily, eating up her camera's storage space.

There is no sound here, for her, other than the click of the camera. She's only ever been this quiet when she's sitting in the Wednesday discussion sessions, only this time it's not just her, it's everywhere, soaked into the air around her and there's no space for any other noise.

There's no space for anything else, not even Brittany, and she gets a horrible guilty pleasure from that.

* * *

Brittany promised she wouldn't leave her, and she doesn't.

It takes a while for Santana to screw up the courage to go over to Brittany's house but she does. She rings the bell before she can change her mind and bolt back home and before she knows what's happening she is standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Brittany to come down. Brittany's mother is still standing by the door like she expects to have to see Santana out soon.

Brittany stands at the top of the stairs and doesn't say anything for what seems like months. All the calm and careful reasons Santana had rehearsed in the car on the way over fly straight out of her head.

Brittany has never looked as intimidating as she does right now and Santana holds herself as still as she can. She's afraid that if she moves Brittany will decide to tell her to leave and she knows that if that happens she'll slink out of the house and most likely never show up again.

'Come up to my room,' Brittany says, and she almost trips over her feet going up the stairs.

'I am so angry with you, Santana,' Brittany says when they are inside. The door is safely shut behind them and Santana has perched awkwardly on the computer chair. She fights the urge to look away.

'I know.' Brittany is sitting on her bed, her fingers digging into the bedspread.

'No, you don't.' She gives up trying to maintain eye contact and focuses on her knees. Brittany isn't going to make this easy on her. Not that she should. She grasps for something to say but all her words are gone and all that's left is a nauseating sense of guilt that keeps her looking firmly downwards.

'I couldn't do the show, Britt. I couldn't. It was too much.' She raises her eyes then, and she tries to make her understand. She thinks she sees a flicker of sympathy in Brittany's eyes.

''I know,' Brittany sighs out eventually. 'But you should have called me. Or answered some of my texts.'

Not talking to her was one of the hardest things she has ever done in her life, but after she blew her off she didn't feel like she deserved to have Brittany forgive her like she knew she would have. She didn't want to have to crush Brittany and make her come back to her because it felt incredibly selfish. It had made sense at the time.

Now all it has left her with is a Brittany who looks at her like she expects her to walk out of the room at any time.

She takes a chance and moves to sit next to Brittany. When Brittany doesn't move away Santana carefully places a hand on her knee. Brittany has always been a very tactile person and she knows that she'll consider what she wants to say more if they are touching.

'I'm sorry,' she says, because she doesn't have anything else.

'Okay,' Brittany says. It's not _I forgive you_ but she thinks it's as close as she's going to get for now, so she is caught completely off-guard when Brittany wraps her up in one of her bone crushing hugs.

When Brittany eventually lets her go Santana smoothes her hair down awkwardly and pushes down a nervous laugh. Brittany looks at her and she feels warmth spread all the way to her fingers and toes.

It is the strangest thing in the world to look into Brittany's eyes and understand that Brittany feels the exact same way she does. It's dizzying and exhilarating to understand for the first time how _much_ Brittany loves her. She wants to smile and cry and dance and in the end she settles for holding her hand tight.

She might not deserve to be loved the way she is, but she _is_, and she's not going to be an idiot again and ruin it.

* * *

She takes Dave Karovsky to prom and Brittany doesn't fight her. She seems to understand that Santana's not going anywhere; she's not going to run again. Still, Santana is secretly pleased when Brittany doesn't take anyone and instead spends half the night dancing inappropriately with Mike.

After Karovsky leaves without her, Brittany gives her a ride home and kisses her sweetly before letting her out of the car. She stands on the driveway until Brittany's car is out of sight and resists the impulse to jump into the air like a freak.

After that they don't move past soft kisses and a little bit of necking and any frustration that Santana is feeling is offset by the knowing that she can send Brittany texts that end in _I love you_.

She also has her last photography class a few days before they have to leave for Nationals. They throw a lame mixer, and friends and family of people in the class come around and look at the pictures displayed on the wall. She invites her mother and Brittany and she makes sure they arrive after it has already started so that it's full and they can slip in unnoticed.

Her mother coos over the section that has her stuff with it and Brittany beams. She tries to hide her smile in a cup of punch.

She shoos them out as soon as it starts winding down and heaves a sigh of relief when they are safe in the car. Her mom tries to whack her with a rolled up print of one of her pictures.

'Why did you drag us out, Santana? I was having so much fun talking to all of your photography friends!' She shrugs and tries to scowl but she can't because tonight was _so_ good. Not so much the forced socializing or the terrible food or her mom's impassioned cries of delight whenever they saw one of Santana's pictures but just having Brittany close, pressed against her and skimming her hand over Santana's when no one was looking made everything else fade into the background.

Maybe it's because they are sitting in a dark car, away from anyone who could see them, but sometimes she kind of can't believe that she had the chance to be this happy right from the beginning.

The backseat is dark and shadowy and she slides her hand across so she can grab onto Brittany's.

* * *

New York is the loudest place she's ever been in her life.

When New Directions leaves the hotel room to get inspiration for the songs they need to write for Nationals she has to stop herself from jumping at every loud noise that springs out at her. It is also a shock to see that there is a whole city of people that walk around with the 'don't fuck with me' face that she has been trying to cultivate for years. She wavers between being intimidated and impressed and eventually settles for trying to imitate the scariest looking ones. When she thinks she's got it right she walks up behind Rachel and snickers as she squeaks in surprise.

They lose anyway, which isn't surprising considering they were going over some of the choreography for the first time five minutes before they went on stage, but she brings Brittany a pretzel because she knows she'll be crushed.

The next day is the day they would have been competing in the finals if they hadn't been kicked out and everyone is so depressed that it isn't hard to sneak out of the hotel with Brittany. They meet Quinn in the lobby and bring her along too, because Santana hasn't forgotten what she's said about being lonely.

Besides Quinn's already seen them, and Brittany wouldn't agree to just run past her.

She has her camera of course, and she snaps a few pictures as they walk along. She does it shyly, at first, because of course Quinn has no idea what she is doing and keeps staring at her curiously but when she doesn't say anything she gets bolder, and she makes them stop when they pass street performers and crumbling buildings and monuments that catch the light in a way she hasn't seen before.

She's just finished discretely taking a picture of an old man wearing a rainbow coloured top hat when there's a tap on her shoulder. She spins around to see Quinn watching her with an expectant look on her face.

'What?' she demands.

'Can I see the pictures?' Santana freezes.

'Um. No,' she says.

'Why not?'

'Because,' she says stubbornly.

'Oh come on. If you can have your stuff hanging in a gallery then why can't you show me?'

'How did you find out about that?'

'Brittany just told me. Come on, hand it over,' Quinn says, crooking her finger and grinning. Santana sighs reluctantly before looping the safety strap around Quinn's neck and handing her the camera.

'Don't drop it,' she warns. Quinn rolls her eyes.

'I won't.'

Santana spends a few anxious seconds watching Quinn's face as she flips through the pictures but Brittany winds their fingers together and distracts her.

'Your nervous face is really cute,' Brittany says quietly. She blushes.

'When did you even tell Quinn about the gallery?' she asks, partly from curiosity but mostly to distract herself from the fact that she is holding Brittany's hand _in public_, with Quinn right next to them. Brittany wrinkles her nose adorably.

'Just now,' Brittany says. 'I don't think you heard us.'

Quinn turns the camera and hands it back to Santana carefully. She tries hard to stop from asking what Quinn thinks but some of it must show in her eyes because Quinn smiles and nudges her shoulder.

'Who'd have thought,' she says. 'Jacob Ben-Israel would be so jealous.' Santana's face does a weird thing where it tries to smile and scowl at the same time and she settles for fiddling around with the settings until she has herself under control again.

'We should probably go to Central Park,' Quinn suggests. 'You could probably get really good stuff there.' Santana glances at Brittany to see what she thinks and when she nods in agreement she pulls her phone out so they can figure out how to get there.

They make it to Central Park and lay on the grass near a fountain. Santana takes pictures of everything she can see- people, animals, birds- but she mostly takes pictures of Brittany. Some of Quinn, too, because that girl is built for a camera.

She won't let a stranger hold the camera so there aren't any pictures of the three of them together, but they take about a million of the three of them in every single combination in every place that Brittany can convince the other two to walk to.

She eventually puts her foot down and refuses to walk anymore, and they spread out a blanket they stole from the hotel and lay down.

She could live here. She really could, and for the first time she understands Rachel's obsession with the city.

She could live here like this forever, she thinks, because Quinn is a better third wheel than most people (and an amazing cook). She's also the only other person Santana knows that takes the same visceral pleasure in insulting people that Santana does. She obviously wants to live with Brittany, if Britt will have her.

Still, Senior year is ahead and she still has figure out what she wants to do with her life, graduate and actually get into a college somewhere before she can let herself dream about life outside of Lima. She closes her eyes, slides her sunglasses back into place and tries to ignore Quinn babbling something about wanting to dye her hair to an almost comatose Brittany.


	3. Chapter 3

**This fic officially departs from canon here.**

* * *

The summer that comes after their humiliating and pointless defeat in New York is one of the hottest she can remember. The heat begins in late June and settles like a blanket over the whole town. Santana can barely move for the heat, and she spends the first couple of days inside on the couch spraying herself with an empty spray bottle she filled with water.

She has just gotten up to go to the kitchen for some Cheetos when she hears a giggle behind her. She whips around to see Brittany leaning against a counter and smiling at her.

'What are you doing here?' Santana asks, and she tries to smooth down her hair without being too obvious about what she is doing. The combination of the heat and the water she's been spraying on herself has given her a mane and she knows she probably looks ridiculous. Brittany pulls her hand away from her head and tangles their fingers together.

'I came to see you, silly.' Brittany laughs again, a low light chuckle that carries around the room, and Santana feels her lips start to turn upwards. She feels her body start to bow towards Brittany, and her feet shuffle forward until they are only a few inches away from Brittany's. When they are this close she has to tip her head up to look Brittany in the eye and when she does she has to look away because the goofy smile spreading over her face is making her feel like an idiot.

She realizes she still has a bag of Cheetos crushed in the hand that Brittany isn't holding and she tosses it onto the counter. Orange mouths aren't attractive.

'What were you doing?' Brittany asks. She plays with Santana's hand, trailing her fingers up and down her skin and making it difficult to pay attention.

'Hmm? Oh, nothing,' she says, because she still doesn't feel comfortable talking about her Teen Mom obsession. Not even with Brittany.

'Oh, well, then…' and Brittany drops her hand. She looks nervous, and Santana bites her lip. 'Do you want to come with me for a picnic? I have sandwiches.' She looks like she half expects her to say no and Santana nods her head quickly.

'I'll go get dressed,' she says, and she runs up the stairs as fast as the heat will allow.

* * *

When she comes downstairs fifteen minutes later she is wearing a sundress and her hair has been tamed and restrained by a headband. Brittany looks at her and smiles.

'You look nice.'

'You too,' she replies. Brittany always looks nice, but the cut-off shorts and yellow shirt she is wearing makes her looks more delicious than usual.

Brittany drives because she says that their picnic spot is a surprise, and Santana lets herself relax into the seat.

She holds back a giggle when Brittany leads her to one of the favourite picture spots. It is a meadow in a wood on the other side of the park, near the hills. It is so remote that they can't hear any sounds at all from the park. Brittany lays out the blanket, sits down, and holds a hand out to help Santana down.

Being with Brittany like this feels so much more formal. Maybe it's because she's in a dress and Brittany waited downstairs for her instead of coming up like she usually does while she got changed. Maybe it's because Brittany clearly chose this place ahead of time, or maybe it's because she knows that Brittany thought she would say no when she asked her to come here. Maybe that's why holding her hand feels more like she's trying to make a promise than anything else.

Brittany still hasn't let go of her hand and she feels a gentle tug.

'Hey. Where are you going?' Brittany asks. They have set up their blanket at the very edge of the meadow, and the trees above them are sending vertical stripes across her face. She shakes her head to stop her mind wandering.

'Nowhere,' she says. She takes a deep breath and leans forward and kisses Brittany on the cheek.

Brittany has packed cheese, crackers, sandwiches and fruit, and Santana carefully checks each sandwich before biting into it. She knows that Lord Tubbington sometimes helps Brittany decide what to put in sandwiches and she has no desire to accidentally bite into a tuna fish and jelly sandwich.

'That only happened once, Santana,' Brittany says. Santana starts. She and Brittany didn't talk for so long that she forgot how it feels to have someone almost live in her brain.

They don't really talk until they get to the dessert and Brittany is opening a container of strawberries.

'I'm so glad you came,' Brittany says. She drops a strawberry into Santana's palm.

'Why wouldn't I?' she replies.

'Because I thought you'd be scared,' Brittany mumbles. Santana winces. She forgot that Brittany doesn't really do rhetoric.

'I thought you'd be scared,' she continues, 'because New York was so perfect and fun but we're back here, and I didn't think it would last when we left.'

'I am scared,' Santana admits, because there's no point in hiding it from Brittany. She knows that she chose a secluded picnic spot for a reason. 'But I don't want to lose you.'

'Santana, you shouldn't want to do this because you think you'll lose me.'

'I know,' she says quickly. 'That's not the only reason why. I love you,' she says, and Brittany's cheeks flush a bright and beautiful pink. 'I want to get used to that, and showing you,' she says.

It seems to be the right thing to say because Brittany kisses her. It is light, and quick, but it burns her lips until Brittany raises a cool strawberry to her mouth.

* * *

When Brittany drops her home she hops out of the car and waves on the porch as she drives away. She walks into the house and finds her mom in the kitchen, cutting up some vegetables.

'Come and help me, nena.' She opens the fridge and pulls out the things they need for a salad. 'Where have you been? You look nice.'

'Nowhere,' Santana answers. She turns away when she sees a little smile start to spread across her mom's face.

'I thought I saw Brittany's car drop you off.'

'Yeah. We just went out on a picnic.' The knowing smile on her mom's face is too much and she walks to the sink to wash the lettuce.

* * *

After that Brittany comes over almost every day. Sometimes they go out and sometimes they stay in and try to beat the heat by having popsicle eating competitions. Quinn starts to come over too, and every time that she does some of the tight anger that had been building up in her all through Junior year disappears.

She finds out that a relaxed Quinn is just as snappy and sarcastic but without the edge that used to make Santana feel like Quinn really was only a few inches away from ripping her throat out. It's a relief, really, and she jumps at the chance to relax too. There's no point in being known as the mean one when it's just the three of them.

She and Quinn still have the occasional cat fight to keep their claws sharp, and Brittany stands by and makes sure that thing's don't get out of hand. They never do though. It's too exhausting without the Glee Club drama to fuel their anger. Besides, the heat of the summer leeches the energy for most arguments right out of them.

'I was thinking about what school I should apply for,' Quinn says out of the blue. They've just finished season four of one tree hill and Brittany is wiping her eyes with the palms of her hands.

'What?'

'College. Have you started thinking about where you'll apply?'

'Maybe,' Santana says evasively, because she already knows exactly where she's applying, but she doesn't want to sound overconfident. She knows she probably doesn't have a chance in hell of getting in anywhere she wants. It hasn't stopped her from starting to write her personal essays and planning a colour scheme for her dorm room, though.

Quinn looks at her like she knows she's lying but she leaves it alone. 'I'm going to apply to OSU. And Yale,' she adds. She says it like it's the most natural thing in the world but Santana can hear a tiny tremor in her voice when she says Yale. It occurs to her that Quinn probably never considered that she could go to university out of state until her dad left and gave her room to breathe. This realization makes her braver.

'I'm applying to New York,' she says. 'NYU and Columbus, and a couple of other places.' Quinn nods like she knew that she was going to say that all along.

'Brittany? What about you?' Quinn asks. Brittany bites her lip and glances at Santana. 'I don't know,' she says finally, and she changes the subject.

Later, after Quinn has left and she is in bed with Brittany she can't stop thinking about what Brittany's going to do after graduation. They've only just managed to inch past the tentative dating stage onto something more solid. She can barely imagine what it will be like to have Brittany to the rest of the summer, and the ideas of them being together like this all through college terrifies her. Still, she can't stop thinking about it. She blurts the question out before she can change her mind.

'I don't know,' Brittany says. The room is dark, the sun has just set and she hasn't gotten up to close the curtains yet. All she can see are silhouettes.

She wants her to apply for a school in New York, but they feel too new and raw for her to tell her what she thinks they should be doing.

'I think I want to leave Lima,' Brittany adds. 'But I don't know what I would want to do. I don't even know if I want to go to college.'

'You don't have to go if you don't want to,' Santana says. She is determined not to push Brittany into what she wants for her, but every nerve in her body and thrumming and waiting for Brittany to say that she wants to come with her.

'I like New York,' Brittany says. Santana's breath catches in her throat and she bites her lip to try to control her smile.

'Really?' she asks. Brittany's hand skims over the strip of skin that isn't covered by her sleep shirt and she shivers. 'What do you like about it,' she says. Brittany's brow furrows.

'I like the parks. And the buildings. I like that no one cares what you do as long as you don't look at them. I like that I can do anything I want when I'm there. And,' Brittany moves her hand up and places it on Santana's cheek, 'you'll be there. That's the best reason to be anywhere.'

'Oh,' she says. 'Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Yeah,' she says. The warmth in her chest making it hard to form words. She gives up and just presses forward to kiss Brittany, melting into the soft surety of the thought that they are going to go to New York, together.

* * *

'What the fuck, Q?'

Quinn's hair is the worst shade of pink she has ever seen in her life and she has so much eye makeup on she looks like someone tried to give her a black eye. Quinn shuffles in the doorway for a second, but when it becomes clear that Santana is in shock and unable to move she shoves her aside and steps into the living room.

'Are you high? Are you drunk?' She reaches out to feel Quinn's forehead and her hand is slapped away.

'Get off me, Santana.'

'Calm down. I'm not the one who just showed up looking like a reject from an Avril Lavigne tribute band. What did you do?'

'I just wanted a change. I just wanted something different, okay?' Quinn is coiled in a corner of the room like an angry snake and she looks like she'll strike out if she says anything more. Santana wonders why she's come over if she obviously doesn't want to talk about what she's done to herself.

'It could be worse,' she allows. 'At least you didn't shave it off. You're going to have it back to normal before we go back to school, though, right?' Quinn shrugs.

She flashes back to when she got her boob job and one of the first things she did after she healed was go see Quinn.

'Why did you do it?' Her voice comes out soft, like it does when she's talking to Brittany. Quinn's head snaps round suspiciously. Santana sits down in one of the armchairs in the living room and after a second Quinn sits down too.

'The old me wasn't working out.'

'Quinn-'

'My dad's not going to pay for any college out of state. I can't_ leave_, Santana.'

She doesn't have to be a genius to see that Quinn has been drowning, here, in Lima, ever since the baby. It was the first time in her whole life she had done something that wasn't expected of her. Santana knows that it was probably the first time it occurred to her that there wasn't anything to stop her from living the other million types of lives she couldn't have before.

Now she was stuck in the same box she'd managed to claw her way out of.

'So-'

'I'm trying something else.'

Fucking typical of Quinn to have to go to the other extreme. Still, she's not the mean one anymore and she's afraid Quinn might stab her with one of her studs if she pushes her too far.

'If you need me to touch up those fugly roots of yours-'

'Santana.'

* * *

When Brittany sees Quinn's hair she takes Quinn's hand and leads her away to another room. When Santana peeks in to see what's taking them so long she sees Quinn wrapped up in Brittany's arms. She watches Brittany stroke bubblegum-pink strands of hair off Quinn's forehead and she feels her chest expand with something that feels a little like jealousy but more like love and she wishes that she was the kind of person who would step into the room and wrap her arms around them both.

Instead she tiptoes out and makes sure the popcorn is ready for their chick-flick movie marathon.

* * *

So the summer is full of the three of them together. She likes it that way because it reminds her of when things were simpler, before the baby. But she likes it just as much, if not more when it's just her and Brittany, or sometimes her alone, sneaking off to Columbus with her camera because there's a parade happening. She's never felt so busy and lazy and happy at the same time.

The pattern holds until Puck starts to drunk dial her and she drives over to his place to make sure that he's not being serious about using the roof as a launch pad into his sister's kiddie pool.

'Lauren broke up with me,' he burbles, when she finds him flat on his ass in the basement (he showed her how to open the basement window from the outside months ago).

She can't say she's sorry, because that bitch gave her bruises that lasted for weeks, but Puck looks like he's trying not to cry and she doesn't really know what she'll do if he actually does burst into tears.

'Shit,' she says instead, and he flashes her a look.

'I haven't seen you all summer, Lopez.'

'Don't call me that,' she says as her stomach twinges with guilt. She's been busy spending time with Brittany and Quinn while the person who practically carried her through the mess with Brittany last year drank himself into a coma in his basement by himself.

She straightens him up and gets him to drink some water before tucking him into bed. She texts Brittany to tell her where she'll be spending the night before making herself comfortable on the floor.

After that Puck kind of joins in their group. He doesn't fit in as neatly as Quinn does but his sharp edges seem to be rubbed away too, and there isn't nearly as much fighting as she thought there would be.

So the four of them go bowling and sometimes to movies but most of the time they lie around and talk. She gets used to Brittany cuddling into her and playing with her hands when they are together and she stops stiffening up when Puck or Quinn glance their way.

The newness of them is still so delicate that she feels like if she breathes the wrong way it will shatter.

Then Senior year starts and everything changes.

* * *

She rejoins the Cheerios because her college applications need a boost, and Brittany joins for the same reason. When Quinn sees them in their uniforms for the first time she purses her lips and walks out of Santana's house. The next time she sees her she is sitting with a bunch of leathered up losers throwing pennies at people using the ATM in town.

Almost all her progress with Brittany over the summer disappears when she walks into school for the first time and almost throws up at the idea of holding hands with her in the hallways. She feels like a traitor when Brittany's eyes dim and she walks away to say hello to Mike.

She fixes that, after school with a bunch of flowers and a carefully prepared speech about how much she loves her and how sorry she is. It must work because an hour later Brittany is sitting across from her in the tub, running a foot up and down her thigh.

She also signs up for the advanced photography class because everything is getting louder and harder and she needs the quiet.

* * *

Santana knows that flowers are a pretty shitty substitute for actually being able to stop hiding Brittany away. She also knows that Brittany isn't going to push her. She knows that Brittany will probably hide away with her for the rest of the year if Santana tells her that she can't come out this year.

It really is so tempting to just do that. To wait until they are safely in New York, where no one will bat an eyelash at two girls together. But this is her last year here. She doesn't want her last ever memories of living in Lima to be of hiding when she had worked so hard to be seen and noticed before.

(For all the wrong reasons, she knows now. But she tries not to dwell on that)

It's not that she's not scared. In fact she's not sure if she'll ever stop being scared of the prospect of walking around with the most vulnerable part of her exposed for everyone to see. But the fear feels more and more peripheral every day that she wakes up and she's still a lesbian, every day that she still loves Brittany more than she ever thought she could.

It's pretty weird that the thing she hated most about herself is what anchors her now, but she's willing to take what she can get.

* * *

It's kind of really annoying and anticlimactic when, after all the thinking and agonizing she's done about coming out, she just blurts it out. During Maury, no less.

'What?' her mom says. She puts her chopsticks in her takeout box, places it on the side table and clasps her hands together to stop them from shaking.

'I said I'm a lesbian and Brittany is my girlfriend.' Her voice comes out stronger and steadier than she thought it would, and she takes a shaky breath against the adrenaline that has suddenly flooded her system.

Her mom gives her a calm, _tell me something I didn't know_ kind of look and places a hand on Santana's shoulder.

'Thank you for telling me, Santana,' she says softly. Santana blinks rapidly as her vision blurs, and she swallows hard to keep from crying. 'Oh, nena,' her mom sighs, and she gives up trying to stop the tears and just lets herself cry. Her mom wraps her up in a fierce hug and they wait the tears out.

When she thinks she has herself under control she leans back and takes a deep breath. Her mom watches her closely. 'Are you alright?' she asks. Santana nods.

'I think I'm going to go to Brittany's,' she says. 'Can I... is that okay?'

Her mom looks at her weird- she doesn't really ask if she can go places anymore- but she nods anyway. Santana runs upstairs to get her car keys.

* * *

Brittany asks her if she wants them to come out to the glee club a couple of days later.

'I don't know, Britt.' They are sitting in on Brittany's bed, half watching an episode of Sweet Valley High but mostly just sneaking kisses over the bowl of popcorn.

'You don't have to,' Brittany says, kissing the tip of her nose. 'But they're our family.'

Santana considers that for a second.

'Do we have to sing?'

'Yes, we do. _Glee_ Club, remember,' Brittany says, poking her in the side.

So they sing in Glee Club. Together. They sit on stools facing the rest of the club and one of the band geeks strums in the background as they sing Crystal Ball by Pink. They don't hold hands but Brittany is right next to her the whole time, their arms brushing softly as they sing about patience and forgiveness, and learning to be brave.

When they stop singing the guitarist holds the last note and when it fades away the room stays deathly quiet. She is suffering from a mild case of tunnel vision and is only dimly aware of the Glee Club gawping as Brittany hops off the stool and pulls Santana off too, linking their fingers together.

'So, in case you missed it, Santana is my unicorn now.' Brittany says.

'I think everyone knew that already,' Finn stage whispers.

'Shut up, Finn,' Quinn says. She meets Santana's eyes across the room and gives her a tiny smile.

'Yes, Finn,' Rachel says. 'Don't ruin the moment.' She turns back to Brittany and Santana. 'I would like to congratulate you on what was the one of the most touching Sapphic serenades I have ever seen.'

'How many _have_ you seen?' Mercedes mutters next to her. Rachel ignores her.

'If you ever need guidance and advice, I am more than happy to give you my fathers' numbers. They were once fledgling gays themselves and they are always happy to help out.'

Jesus Christ.

Just before she can snap out of her daze and say something to ruin the happy vibe, Mr. Schuester jumps up from his seat and almost runs to the centre of the room.

'I think that's enough, Rachel. Thank you, Brittany and Santana. That was wonderful, and very expressive. But guys, we really need to talk about Sectionals-'

She and Brittany go to their usual seats at the back and settle in for Mr. Schuester's lecture. Brittany's fingers stay clasped tight around her own, warming and keeping her steady.

* * *

It doesn't all go as smoothly as that- her abuela kicks her out of the house and tells her that she doesn't ever want to see her again, which was something Santana had been afraid of but she never thought would actually happen.

The jocks restrict themselves from throwing slushies or throwing her in the dumpster like they did with Kurt, but she suddenly has boys waiting at her locker to tell her that she and Brittany are 'totally hot' and they are willing to take them out and how them a good time anytime she wants.

She initially responds with a curt 'no,' but by the end of the week- after three days of disgusting comments and ridiculous offers, she snaps and lunges at a douche bag hockey player who had been in the middle of describing what he wanted to happen on their 'date.'

'Keep talking and I'll rip off that ugly toupee you call a mullet and shove it so far down your throat you'll be coughing up hairballs for the next twenty years.' He opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off before he can. 'Don't bother,' she says. 'There is no force on earth that would make me want to date an idiot that smells like a trashcan. I mean, what is that? Did you cuddle with Patches before school today? Were you that lonely?'

Some people behind her titter, but she is almost shaking with rage and she can't really pay attention to what's happening around her.

'Next time you need someone to fondle your disease-ridden junk why don't you try Craigslist? I hear they have a section for pathetic, steroid ridden losers who need mommy's help to tie their shoelaces.' Now people are laughing and the jock looks suitably embarrassed but she doesn't care, because she s still so _fucking_ angry.

She opens her mouth to say something else, but something touches her arm. She whips around to rip apart the person who thought it would be a good idea to touch her, but she falters when she sees that it is Brittany.

'Walk me to class?' Brittany asks. She wraps a hand around Santana's upper arm and her thumb strokes the inside of her arm, where no one can see.

Santana nods mutely and lets Brittany lead her through the small crowd that's formed.

'What are you looking at?' She barks at a freshman who can't stop staring. The crowd widens to let them pass.

Brittany takes her to a mostly disused bathroom on the third floor. Her face feels hot, now, and she clasps her hands together to stop them from shaking.

'I hate them so much. I hate them,' she says hoarsely.

'I know, sweetie,' Brittany says. She pulls Santana's hands apart gently and winds their fingers together.

There isn't much to say, after that. They wait in the bathroom until Santana doesn't feel like she's going to spontaneously combust when she thinks about that idiot. When she feels calmer she leans in and kisses Brittany on the cheek.

'Thank you,' she says. Brittany smiles.

'No problem, honey pie,' Brittany says, putting on a terrible Southern accent to make Santana laugh.

'Do you want to skip?' Santana asks hopefully.

'Sure,' Brittany says. 'You speak Spanish better than Mr. Shue, anyway. Bleachers?'

After that the jocks make sure to keep a wide berth, because apparently there aren't many things more embarrassing than being publicly humiliated by a tiny cheerleader.

Santana doesn't care _why_ they leave her alone, she's just happy that they do.

* * *

**Thanks to Penelope Cross.**


End file.
